


Uh I Think You Got The Wrong Guy - Part 1

by dickgrysvn



Series: Whumptober 2020 [2]
Category: Magnum P.I. (TV 2018)
Genre: Don’t worry the second part is coming, Gen, Hurt No Comfort, Juliet Higgins is mentioned, Kidnapped, Mistaken Identity, Rick Whump, Rick is snarky, So is TC, They show up later - Freeform, Whumptober 2020, not yet at least
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-03
Updated: 2020-10-03
Packaged: 2021-03-08 02:55:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,301
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26788561
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dickgrysvn/pseuds/dickgrysvn
Summary: There’s a slight rustle as someone steps into line behind him, and Rick bristles slightly as the person gets a little too close for comfort. He’s got the card in the slot already, but he’s loath to enter the pin with someone practically breathing down his neck. He starts to turn, a sharp Buddy, do you mind? on his lips, when there’s something hard and cold pressed against his spine. Rick goes frozen still, recognizing the deadly muzzle of a small handgun at his back. The man, as he can tell now, leans in close, his breath warm and tickling the side of Rick’s neck.“Thomas Magnum?”{Rick is kidnapped in a case of mistaken identity. Prompt fill for Whumptober day 2 - Kidnapped. Part 1 of 2}
Series: Whumptober 2020 [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1947247
Comments: 4
Kudos: 20
Collections: Whumptober 2020





	Uh I Think You Got The Wrong Guy - Part 1

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome back! This is a tad bit late, but uhhh this fic has been a monster. I had to split it, or I was never gonna post anything. So this is part 1, it fills the prompt for day 2, and part 2 will come tomorrow and finish the story with the prompt fills of manhandled and held at gunpoint! Although this kinda fits that too lol. Anyway, I hope you enjoy! The second part will be from Thomas’ POV

Truth be told, Rick wasn’t even supposed to be here today. Thomas asked him to run an errand, and Rick being who he is, he couldn’t say no to those big brown puppy eyes. Rick shakes his head with a laugh, knowing it’s his own fault for always giving in and feeding Thomas’ bad habits. He just can’t help it. The man always manages to look like a kicked puppy, and Rick can’t help but have a soft spot for him. After everything they’ve been through, how could he not? In this instance, however, Thomas does have a legitimate excuse. When Rick pulled up to the guest house at noon, Thomas greeted him with a sad but expectant smile, and his right arm in a sling. Rick rolled his eyes. When he asked what he’d done this time, Higgins stuck her head over his shoulder and informed him that Thomas had gotten himself assaulted by his client, a man whose wife he’d been investigating. Apparently, the man hadn’t appreciated Thomas telling him his wife wasn’t cheating, just didn’t care for him, and had promptly dislocated Thomas’ shoulder. Thomas apologetically informed him that he couldn’t drive, a payment he’d been waiting for had just come through, and could Rick go get the money out from the ATM for him while they wait for TC? Rick wondered why Higgins couldn’t go get it and was told that Higgins had, regrettably, let her license expire. Rick agreed, but on one condition: he got to drive the Ferrari. Thomas agreed after only a second of hesitation, and even Higgins gave only a half-hearted protest after glancing at Thomas’ bruised cheekbone and sling. So here he is standing in line at the bank, waiting to use the ATM so he can get Thomas’ money out for him. He’s been waiting in line for almost 20 minutes, but driving the Ferrari had definitely been worth it.

  
Rick stifles a yawn, carefully eyeing the two people in line ahead of him. The man currently at the ATM is taking his sweet, sweet time, and Rick stifles a heavy sigh. He just wants to get Thomas’ money and get back to Robin’s Nest. They’d all managed to secure the afternoon off and were planning on spending the rest of the day surfing and hanging out on the waves. Rick hasn’t had time to surf in weeks, and he’s looking forward to just relaxing with his friends. So if this gentleman ahead of him could just  _ hurry up _ , that would be great. Finally, the man is done, and the woman in front of him makes her way up to the ATM. Rick silently begs her to be quick, and he’s pleasantly surprised when she takes no longer than three minutes. He steps up to the ATM, pulling Thomas’ ATM card from his pocket. 

There’s a slight rustle as someone steps into line behind him, and Rick bristles slightly as the person gets a  _ little _ too close for comfort. He’s got the card in the slot already, but he’s loath to enter the pin with someone practically breathing down his neck. He starts to turn, a sharp  _ Buddy, do you mind?  _ on his lips, when there’s something hard and cold pressed against his spine. Rick goes frozen still, recognizing the deadly muzzle of a small handgun at his back. The man, as he can tell now, leans in close, his breath warm and tickling the side of Rick’s neck. 

“Thomas Magnum?” Rick swallows, and before he can even answer the card is quickly removed from the ATM. The man behind him and just to his right smiles in grim satisfaction as he looks it over, looking for all the world like someone simply catching up with a close friend. “Good. Come with me, please,” he mumbles softly, and Rick has no choice but to comply. They leave the bank together, the gun pressing painfully into Rick’s lower back and the man’s other arm slung casually around his shoulder in a gesture of comfort and familiarity. It sends a thrill down Rick’s spine as they leave, knowing no one is even paying attention to what looks like two close friends or perhaps even boyfriends. Rick half expects them to walk to a suspicious-looking van, and he’s more than a little surprised when the man leads them over to the cherry red Ferrari. Rick feels a little spark of hope. He knows Robin has lo-jack in all his vehicles, and he hopes at least someone will be able to find him. It’s as if the man reads his mind, however, because suddenly the arm is being withdrawn from his shoulders and a little black remote is being waved in his face. “This little beauty disables communications devices, in case you were wondering,” Mr Kidnapper says, and Rick’s heart sinks. “The only way you make it out of this alive is if your employer complies with our demands, understood?” He shoves Rick hard towards the car with the muzzle of the gun, and Rick stumbles slightly. “Now get in, and drive where I tell you to.” Rick does as he’s told, acutely aware that the convertible means there’s no time he isn’t being covered with that gun. The man gets in with him, and suddenly Rick is face to face with the weapon he’s being threatened with. The cool, stocky barrel of a MP-443 Grach is leveled at his gut, and Rick feels a bead of molten fear pool into his stomach. That’s Russian military issue, meaning either this man is a wannabe or this is about White Knight. Something cold and certain settles in his stomach alongside the hot fear as he realizes one thing: he most likely isn’t making it out of this alive.

  
  
Rick drives with no known destination for 30 minutes, following the curt directions given to him by the man in the passenger seat. Rick isn’t sure how he missed the slight Russian accent before, although maybe he’s only hearing it now just because now he’s looking for it. The man is doing a very good job of hiding it, but now that Rick recognized the russian issue weapon, he can pick out the slight breaks in accent. He decides to pry a little bit, secure in the knowledge that the man won’t shoot him when he’s the one driving 70 miles per hour on an empty Hawaiian freeway. Probably. Hopefully. Rick takes a deep breath, and takes the plunge.

“Your accent’s pretty good, man. Where’d you pick it up? Or is it just put on? Like, where’d you grow up? Moscow? St. Petersburg?” He keeps his voice light and casual, simply trying to play his hand. Whatever the man is trying to hide, Rick can see a glimpse of it, and he wants to gauge his reaction. Sure enough, the man hisses sharply and he stiffens just a bit. And then Rick is whiteknuckling the steering wheel as the Grach is shoved roughly against his temple. He jerks his head slightly to the left in a subconscious flinch, and the gun follows. Rick thinks there will most likely be a muzzle-shaped bruise there later. He braces himself, wincing when the safety is clicked off. There’s nothing but charged silence for a few moments as Rick tries to keep his focus on the road, the sound of his blood rushing in his ears the only noise.

“You are lucky Anton wants you alive,” the man mutters darkly, all traces of American accent abandoned. The accent is thick and distinct, and Rick marvels he was even able to hide it at all. The drop of adrenaline is harsh, and Rick sags against the seat, exhausted. He swallows hard, attempting to regain some of his bravado. This is what he does, this is his specialty. It was how he kept the focus off Thomas back in the caves, when he’d already taken one too many beatings and Rick knew another would most likely kill him. Rick slips back into that pattern again now, hoping it will agitate the young Russian man again and cause him to let more information slip. Rick’s fairly certain he shouldn’t know the name and nationality of his kidnappers, for example. 

“Anton, huh? So what’s your name then, kid?” Because that’s exactly what he is. He looks like he’s not a day over 21, and Rick tries to use that to advantage. 

“Shut up!” The gun is jabbed painfully into his ribs, and Rick can’t help the way his heart jumps into his throat when he remembers the safety is still off. 

“Dude! If you’re gonna be so careless with that thing while I’m driving at breakneck speeds, the least you can do is put the safety back on! Don’t they teach you gun safety in, what are you in, middle school?” The kid snarls and removes the gun, flicking the safety back on. Rick breathes a silent sigh of relief.

“I’m 24, and you need to shut up before I shoot you in the leg. You can still drive with a bullet in your left leg, no?” Rick grins.

“Sure, kid, but I’m just gonna keep calling you ‘kid’ until you tell me somethin’ else to call ya,” Rick acquiesces, and he can just barely hear the kid sigh over the wind rushing past. 

“Alexei,” the kid finally says after a moments of silence. “You can call me Alexei if you insist on being childish.” Rick smiles.

“See? That wasn’t so hard!” Alexei rolls his eyes, and Rick feels very proud of himself. Either he’ll annoy the kid, sorry  _ Alexei  _ so much he’ll become irrational, or he’ll humanize himself to him just enough to work it in his favor later. That’s what he did back in the Caves, anyway, and it worked then. He can only hope it works for him this time. 

  
  


Ten minutes later, Rick takes another turn onto a long, winding dirt track. He won’t call it a road, it isn’t even enough to be one. It looks like a service trail, barely noticeable off the empty stretch of highway they’re on. Rick slows down as he’s told, following the snaking trail as carefully as he can, squinting through the dirt and dust the Ferrari kicks up in his face. After what feels like forever but is probably no more than three minutes, the trees and brush open up into a small clearing, where an old rundown building sits smack in the middle. It’s not quite a house, it looks more like an industrial shed than anything else, and the equipment scattered around in various states of rust and decay confirms his theory. The road they’ve come down is indeed some kind of service trail, long since forgotten and grown over. If it weren’t for the high tech looking antennas jutting from the roof of the building, Rick could imagine this place hasn’t been touched in 50 years. 

At Alexei’s prompting, Rick slows to a stop and cuts the engine, carefully placing both hands back on the steering wheel. Rick hears the soft  _ click _ of the safety sliding off, and he sobers up. This is where it gets serious. This is where he holds his cards close and sees what hands his opponents are playing. He waits for Alexei to give him a direction, and he’s startled when the young man lets loose a New York cab whistle. There’s a beat of silence, and then the door to the ramshackle building opens and two men with rifles step outside. Rick raises an eyebrow, glancing over at Alexei with a curious look. Alexei simply tightens his jaw and flicks the gun in the direction of the men, a clear sign for Rick to exit the car. Rick raises his hands in an  _ alright, fine _ gesture, and slowly reaches for the door handle. Immediately, the two men have their rifles trained on him, and Rick freezes. 

“You guys want me out of the car or not?” Rick carefully measures the amount of sarcasm he lets into his words, and he hears Alexei huff next to him. The kid barks something in Russian, and the men slowly lower their weapons slightly. Rick resumes opening the door, keeping his hands exposed as much as he can. He doesn’t need to give these men any excuse to fill him with more holes than a sieve. They seem twitchy enough as it is. He knows the only reason the barrels of their rifles aren’t aimed at his head right now is because Alexei still has a gun trained on his side from inside the car. Rick steps out of the car, and one of the two men is on him instantly, shoving him roughly against the hood and searching him. Rick’s not armed, as the man soon finds out, and then the man’s hand lands on Rick’s back pocket.  _ His wallet _ . This is it, this is where he dies. He closes his eyes as the man fishes his wallet out and flips it open. He prepares himself for the bullet in the back of his skull, and he winces at the rapid, angry Russian. Alexei joins them, the three men conversing in low, urgent tones. Rick idly wonders if there’s still a gun in him right now, and then hands are grabbing him roughly and spinning him around. He’s pushed back onto the hood, one of the other two men holding him down with his forearm across his throat, with just enough force to keep Rick from squirming too hard. Rick freezes, swallowing hard against the pressure on his throat, eyes darting to the gun still in Alexei’s hand now pointed at his face. 

“You are not Thomas Magnum. Your name is Orville Wright.” There’s no question in Alexei’s words, and Rick isn’t sure where he’s going with this. “From how on, you are Thomas Magnum. This,” he holds up Rick’s driver’s license, “does not exist. If our boss finds out you are not Magnum, we, and you, do not leave this clearing alive. Do you understand?” Alexei’s voice is more grim and serious than any 24 year old’s voice should ever be. Rick immediately grasps the gravity of the situation. These three men are so convinced they will be killed for this mistake they are willing to cover it up, and get Rick to help them. Rick takes a deep breath against the arm still pushed into his throat. 

“Yeah. Okay, I understand,” he mumbles, and the man pinning him down has the decency to look a little sheepish and he pulls back a little. Rick lets out a gasp when he does, coughing slightly. “Thanks, man,” he wheezes, the release of pressure on his throat making it hurt to talk a little. Alexei waves a hand and the man lets go completely, pulling Rick back up off the hood. By no means do they relax their security on him, but he’s no longer being held or pinned down and he’ll take that as a win. He coughs one last time, reaching up to rub his throat slightly. “Geez, man, you could at least get to know a guy first,” he mumbles, and the man scowls. Alexei actually snorts, and Rick smiles. “Alright, take me to your leader.” Alexei genuinely smiles then, although there’s something behind it, something in his eyes that Rick doesn’t like. It sends a chill through him. 

“Yes. Let’s go.”

  
  
  


They march him inside the building, and it’s dark and dingy inside and it takes a minute for his eyes to adjust from the bright Hawaiian sun. The first thing he notices is the single metal chair set up in the middle of the empty room, a couple spotlights set up in front of it. There’s a camera set up on a tripod in front of it, and Rick swallows hard. This should be fun. The two men herd him toward the chair as Alexei heads over to what looks like a door to an office or maintenance closet. There’s practically nothing else in this room other than the chair he’s being forced into, and he eyes the camera warily. Will this be to record a proof of life message? Or is this to film his torture? His thoughts are interrupted by the men forcefully shoving him down onto the chair, his arms and legs pulled tight against the metal. There’s the telltale sound of duct tape, and he’s being taped to the chair. The next aren’t gentle, and Rick winces as one of them pulls on his shoulder a bit too hard. 

“Hey! That’s my good arm!” He’s promptly rewarded with the butt of a rifle to his cheek, and it sends his head spinning. His vision explodes with white, and he tries to breathe through the sharp pain in his cheekbone. He feels a small trickle of something hot and wet run down his face, and he figures the man just opened a cut on his face. Oh cool, now he’ll look more badass on screen. The men finish taping him up, and Rick catches the eye of the man who’d been pinning him down earlier. “Man you  _ really  _ oughta get to know a guy first,” Rick sighs, shaking his head. The man snarls, raising the gun to strike him again. 

“Enough!” The voice rings out loud and clear through the small room, and Rick and Gun Man both snap their attention to the office. There’s a man stepping through the door, Alexei just behind him, and Rick’s eyes widen. The man is at least 6’5, and probably weighs over 200lbs. If this guy decides to get his hands dirty, Rick is in for a world of hurt. The man approaches him silently, and at his presence the two other men scramble to stand upright in some semblance of parade rest. Rick raises an eyebrow. The man whom Rick can only assume is Anton stands in front of him, looking down at him with detached, clinical interest. Rick isn’t sure whether he’d prefer a wicked gleam or this calculated, business-like mentality. He’s not sure which can be more cruel. There’s a beat of silence, and then he speaks. 

“Let’s not beat around the bush, my friend. You’re only here because we want something from your employer. You are not valuable otherwise, and as such I will not hesitate to have my men do whatever they feel is necessary to get you to comply. Are we understood?” Anton’s voice is calm and even, and Rick can only just pick up the traces of the Russian accent hidden underneath the false American. Rick hesitates, curious to see what the reaction will be if he stays silent. Anton flicks his chin just slightly, and pain explodes across the side of Rick’s temple as he’s struck with the butt of a gun again on the other side. Rick yelps at the sudden hit, caught off guard at how quickly it happened. Alright. Limits tested. He blinks up at Anton through the spinning in his vision, and nods slowly. “Good. Additionally, we have decided that, given your boss is not always in communication with the outside world, we’d open it up to allow your friends and coworker to… assist in the matter.” Rick snaps his head up at that. Do they have someone else? Did they grab Higgins? Rick shoves his panic down, trying to keep his breathing even, but he’s tense against the tape. “Let’s send them a greeting, shall we?” He gestures toward the camera, and Rick relaxes marginally. They don’t have anyone else. But they’re about to send his friends a video of him tied up and most likely bloody, and his heart aches for the guilt he knows Thomas is about to feel. 


End file.
